Get Your Motor Running
by justicemuffins
Summary: Steve has a new motorcycle. Phil's not so sure how he feels about it.


Let's get one thing straight: NC-17 material is not my forte. (Neither is writing in general, but I have fun with it.) So don't be expecting great things from this one. It is what it is, I guess? It's poorly written sex on a motorcycle, that's what.

**DISCLAIMER: The Avengers and affiliated characters, places, etc. are not mine! I just play in the sandbox a bit.**

* * *

"We're not riding around Manhattan like this."

Steve smothered a chuckle into Phil's shoulder. When Tony had said he'd wanted to make some modifications to Steve's motorcycle, he should have known that the man meant he was going to scrap it and build him a 'better' one from scratch. Although, considering how the old girl had turned out, he couldn't say he minded much. He'd been dying to show Phil the new bike and after much coaxing, had gotten the agent to sit with him and test out how the seat might fit for two.

"We don't have to right away," he replied.

"I think the general public should be eased into this," Phil clarified.

"I know. I understand," Steve said simply.

"I'm not trying to hide, I just want—"

"To make sure Captain America's reputation comes out intact. I know, Phil."

Phil twisted to look at the supersoldier over his shoulder. "Because you are who you are, a situation like this requires tact. Gay relationships are a delicate subject as it is, not even accounting for the fact that you're a national icon—"

"Okay, okay, you win. We don't take the bike out," Steve interrupted.

He felt Phil's sigh before he heard it. "Steve, this is still new for both of us. You're nervous, I'm nervous. I just want to avoid as much stress for both of us as possible. I have no personal reservations about being seen with you like this, but when we're in public, we have to be responsible and consider the ramifications. Tabloids are vicious these days."

Steve could hear the disappointed undertone to the words, even if the voice that spoke them was calm and even, as ever. He let one hand drop from the handle, wrapping it around the shorter man's waist, pressing them flush back-to-chest.

"Yeah, I get it. And I'm sorry," he said.

Phil shook his head. "No, I'm the one who should apologize. I shouldn't be discussing our… relationship as though it's part of our job."

Steve noted the way the agent stumbled on The 'R' Word. Truth be told, it was something they both seemed to trip over. For his part, the whole idea of dating another man was something that had taken him a while to warm up to. It had been months before he'd recognized the affection he felt for the agent was more than the kind just between friends. It had taken him even longer to come to terms with that. He'd never had anything against people who fancied the same gender and considered himself a fairly accepting person, but it was simply something he'd never thought he'd have to apply to himself. His 1940's frame of mind certainly hadn't helped matters either; plying him with misplaced feelings of guilt and shame. Back then, a man dating a man was just not acceptable. It wasn't back then anymore, and neither was he, but part of him always would be and he had to learn to deal with it.

As far as Phil was concerned, it was simple disbelief that Steve would ever be interested in him in the first place. Romantically or otherwise. Sometimes he'd get a look in his eye like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe he'd wake up from this long, long dream. He just couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the idea that a guy like Steve would ever look twice at a guy like him. When Steve had been the one to approach him, it had felt surreal. Sometimes it still did.

Despite all this, they were working on it. It was a relationship founded on its fair share of complications, but one they both put all of themselves into.

"It's important that we do sometimes, though. It's not work, and I know you don't think that it is any more than I do, but you're right. Being an Avenger, being Captain America, means that I have to take into consideration the way the public sees me, even if I don't particularly like it or agree with their judgment," Steve said with a nod of confirmation. "It's hard to keep our personal lives personal. But when we're not in public, we're okay to just do as we like, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. So, let me take you through the modifications…"

Phil always listened with rapt attention to anything that Steve was passionate about, and that motorcycle was one of many things. Sports was another. And music. Steve loved music. He went on for a good ten minutes before Phil felt the arm around his waist squeeze just the slightest bit.

"And the handles are designed so that the whole thing can be operated with one hand only."

The hand on his hip massaged lightly.

"So if I need to use my shield while driving, I can."

He could feel Steve's breath, warm on the back of his neck as he spoke. The supersoldier had moved his hand, resting it on his stomach and rubbing circles into the fabric of his shirt with his thumb.

"Or, I guess if I'd rather sit with you like this instead of you holding onto me from behind where I can't see you… I could do that, too. I could even hold onto you like this the whole ride."

Steve found he liked that idea, of being able to hold onto Phil as he was right then. He liked the feel of them so close together, liked being able to feel every bit of the agent pressed against him.

"And you'd like that?" Phil questioned with a chuckle, trying not to get distracted as Steve gently nuzzled his neck, just above his shirt collar.

"Sure I would," Steve answered. "I like having you close."

From the way the seat was designed, Phil was essentially sitting in his lap. Intimacy had been something slow going between the two of them, as they'd focused more on building the foundations of their relationship before taking that step. But they'd experimented when they'd both felt ready for it, finding what they each liked and disliked. While penetrative sex had not yet been a part of the picture, Steve knew each soft, subtle noise the unflappable agent made as he slowly came apart beneath him. He knew every sigh, every hushed utterance of his name, every smothered moan. And that wasn't even counting the way Steve had committed to memory the vivid image of the agent's face as he—

"Steve."

His attention was dragged back to the present at the quick, clipped way the man had said his name. He realized, to his embarrassment, that he might have been a little _too_ caught up in those memories. Pressed so close together, it would have been impossible for Phil not to notice Steve half hard against his rear.

"Sorry. I… got a little carried away."

"I noticed. Maybe we should head back upstairs," Phil answered.

Steve was about to agree with him… until something gave him pause. "What if we stayed here?"

Phil turned his head at that. "At the risk of someone catching us? I don't think so."

"They're gone for a couple of days, remember? Clint and Natasha are in Paris on assignment, Tony and Pepper are on a business trip to California, Thor's on Asgard, and Bruce isn't going to leave that lab for anything short of the Second Coming."

He hadn't missed the way Phil had shuddered, just slightly, at his poor choice of words.

"So," he said, slipping his hand between the agent's legs, "is that a yes?"

For a moment, all he heard was the sound of Phil breathing. He squeezed.

"JARVIS," Phil called out.

"Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"Please terminate any camera feeds to this garage," Phil said, maintaining an admirable level of control even as Steve palmed his growing erection through his trousers.

"Right away, sir. Will you be needing anything else?"

"No, that'll be all, thank you JARVIS," Steve finished.

"Very good, sir. Enjoy your evening."

Steve didn't know if robots could be programmed to be smug, but knowing Tony, he wouldn't doubt it. He was half tempted to call back that he very well planned to, but the distraction of a very aroused Phil Coulson in his lap put any thoughts of that to rest. The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of their harsh breaths, punctuated occasionally by murmurs of encouragement or pleasure. Steve ground his hips against his partner's backside, keeping pace with his hand between Phil's legs. The agent's calm demeanor had translated even to the bedroom, Steve had found, which was why it was unsurprising that quickened breathing was the only sound he was drawing from the man, even as Phil pressed back against him. It was good, it was so good, but it wasn't quite enough.

"Wait, wait. I want to be able to see you," he breathed.

"Then help me turn around," Phil answered, already moving.

With some slightly uncoordinated movement and cooperation—which almost ended in both of them falling off the motorcycle—they managed to readjust their position so that Phil was facing Steve. The supersoldier marveled for a moment at the way the agent looked; laid back against the gas tank, the angle highlighting the curve of his ribcage (which Steve just had to tenderly caress), his pupils dilated and lips slightly parted as his legs hooked over Steve's.

Slotting their hips together, he gave an experimental thrust upward, hissing in pleasure as their clothed erections met. Keeping one hand on the handle, he dipped forward, snatching up the shorter man's lips in a hungry kiss as Phil's arms wound around his neck. He ran his free hand along his partner's flank, swallowing a quiet moan as he began moving his hips, his pace steadily increasing until he was rutting shamelessly against the agent, feeling Phil's hips buck up to meet his thrusts. His hand was gripping Phil's hip with enough force to bruise—but not to break. Never to break. He often forgot his own strength—which was dangerous with a man like Phil, who could and would take just about anything you threw at him—but when they were together, like this, it was as though he was incapable of exercising the full extent of that strength.

He felt fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he hummed contentedly into the kiss. He'd never experienced anything quite like undoing Phil—and being undone himself in the process. He dragged his lips lower, across the agent's jawline and to his neck where his progress was impeded by the man's tie and collar. Ordinarily, they both would have at the very least unzipped their pants, but there was something oddly exciting about both of them, fully clothed, moving against one another on the back of a motorcycle. They'd probably regret it later, but at the moment, all Steve wanted was more, faster, harder.

"God, you're so—" he breathed.

That and a particularly enthusiastic thrust earned him a sudden gasp, chased by a muffled groan. They were both getting close, he knew, but judging by the way Phil's breathing had turned shaky, he would get the agent there first.

"We should… stop before we…" Phil began to say until his words were interrupted by a sudden need to stifle the moans threatening to creep past his lips as Steve began driving his hips into Phil's at a breakneck pace. "_Steve._ If you don't stop, I—"

"Want it," Steve groaned against his lips. "I wanna see you come. Wanna feel you. _Please_."

And Phil just couldn't say no to that. So, they'd both end up ruining a pair of paints. At the end of the day, it would have been worth it. As it was, he was far too preoccupied with the orgasm his partner was steadily driving him towards. God, he was so hard it almost hurt.

"Close," he ground out.

Steve didn't need telling twice as he thrust wantonly, his controlled rhythm giving way to sheer need. And he did need it. He needed to see the agent come, needed to see him unravel. Phil was almost always silent when he came. As he felt the agent still suddenly, arched up against him, he caught the man's gasp, his cock twitching as it was followed by a quiet, needy noise, almost like a whimper. Phil _never_ sounded that vulnerable before. Steve moaned the man's name as he ground his hips against him desperately; soft, near-silent moans flooding his ears as Phil quivered beneath him, his hips bucking lazily as he rode out his orgasm.

At the sight of the spreading damp patch, the knowledge that he'd just made the man come in his pants, Steve couldn't take it anymore.

"Phil, God, Phil, gonna ohfuckoh_fuck_—"

He groaned as his orgasm tore through him, his hips snapping forward spasmodically. He felt his warm, wet release coating the inside of his briefs, his cock pulsing as he continued to rut against the man beneath him, until at last they were both spent. Steve rested his forehead against Phil's, both of them still trying to catch their breath. They sat in silence, limbs still entangled atop the motorcycle in a boneless heap.

"Wow," Steve said hoarsely, after a few minutes.

Phil laughed.

Steve would have been happy to drift off to sleep right then and there, however after several minutes, the cooling, sticky mess in both of their trousers prompted them to move, albeit on slightly shaky legs. Retreating back to Steve's room, they cleaned up and slipped into bed, drowsy from their activities in the garage. It was late in the evening, all the paperwork finished, the reports filed, and duty done for the day. Unless either of them got a call in the middle of the night, they had it to themselves.

He couldn't tell what he liked more: things like what they'd just done in the garage, or the fuzzy afterglow that followed. He supposed they were just different types of likes. Regardless, he liked the warm, drowsy feeling of being under the covers beside the agent. He was just about to drift off when Phil's voice cut through the fog of blissful semi-consciousness.

"You know," Phil mumbled, "I think I may have gained an appreciation for motorcycles."

Steve just laughed.


End file.
